Our lips touched…
Mr. Jeon's hand.
AND THEN—
He pushed me off.
Like a flying cockroach had landed on him.
Ouch.
The ground was cold.
My pride was colder.
I blinked up at him from the ground, dazed and dramatically sprawled like a rejected auditionee on a reality show.
"Wth, Mira?" I scolded myself in my head.
This is NOT a K-drama where the cold CEO turns out to be your long-lost soulmate with a tragic past and abs sculpted by destiny!
We both got up and dusted ourselves like two people who just wrestled on the lawn over a dropped chocolate.
And then,
he glared at me.
Not a normal glare.
The kind that could evaporate oceans.
The kind villains use right before they unleash their final form.
"You not only got yourself fired," he started, voice sharp as a guillotine, "but you also dared to trespass into MY HOUSE?! Do you have a death wish?"
I widened my eyes. Oh crap.
Activate K-Drama Begging Mode: ON.
I bent at a perfect 90-degree angle, slapped my hands together like I was praying to Buddha, Jesus, and Taylor Swift all at once.
He stared.
I stared.
I blinked.
"Please don't do this to me Mr. Jeon!!"
He grabbed my arm and started pushing me—yes PUSHING ME—towards the gate of his luxurious, "I'm so rich I own a waterfall" compound.
"GET. OUT."
"I'll do anything, Mr. Jeon!" I whined like a dramatic auntie in a soap opera. "I'll come at 6 a.m. I'll work overtime! I'll even do your work!"
No tears came out.
But I was sobbing on the inside.
WHY weren't the tears cooperating?! THIS WAS PRIME TIME FOR A DRAMATIC CRY SCENE.
He grunted while trying to shove me.
"Aish, why are you so heavy?! You don't look this heavy!!"
I stopped.
EXCUSE ME?
Is that… body-shaming I smell?
"You can body shame me as much as you want, Mr Jeon— but PLEASE don't fire me!!" I wailed.
"I'M NOT BODY-SHAMING YOU!"
"YOU ARE!"
"I'm just saying... you don't look as healthy as you actually are!"
"WELL I WON'T BE HEALTHY ANYMORE NOW THAT YOU FIRED ME! WHO'S GONNA PAY FOR MY GROCERIES?! 😭"
He groaned like I just told him BTS disbanded and looked at his wristwatch.
Then he widened his eyes.
What now? Did his Rolex betray him too??
Before I could ask if his timepiece was possessed,
He pushed me.
Like, not dramatically, but enough for me to lose balance and land on my butt like a human pancake.
"OUCH!" I threw myself on the ground like a Victorian lady fainting from corset-tightening. Straight into the damp grass like a tragic heroine with unpaid rent.
He immediately gasped and knelt beside me, eyes wide with genuine concern.
"Are you okay?" he said, panicking. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to—"
I blinked.
Wait—what?
Did I just… hear Mr. Jeon… apologize?
Did the sky crack?
Did the earth shift?
Was Mercury in retrograde?
Am I still alive or did I die and this is heaven?
He reached out and gently rubbed my knuckles with his thumb like we were in a Jane Austen novel. I stared at him, my brain buffering like a bad YouTube video.
What.
THE.
ACTUAL.
??
GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF, MIRA.
He snapped out of whatever crisis he was having and looked at his watch.
"If you don't leave my house in ONE minute, I swear I'll destroy your entire career. Like, make it vanish. Poof. Gone. YOU'LL BE DELIVERING COFFEE TO MY COUSIN WHO OWNS A DENTAL CLINIC."
I stared at him, blinking dramatically like a confused baby owl.
"What?"
"WHAT?!" he snapped back, arms flailing like an angry K-drama dad.
He stormed toward his mansion like a man with a thousand secrets and a chicken to roast.
Naturally, I followed.
Because Mira Kim has no self-preservation instinct. Only drama.
He was tapping the passcode to his mansion door—probably "0000" because that man lacks imagination.
"Sir—"
He turned around like a horror movie ghost.
"YOU'RE STILL HERE?!"
"Sir, just let me explain-- "
"I've had enough of this! What do you want from me?! SHOULD I TELL EVERYTHING TO YOU IN SPANISH?!"
He screamed so loudly I flinched. But guess what?
I didn't back down.
I stepped forward.
He stepped back.
I stepped again.
He backed off again.
And then it hit me. He looked… scared?
Sir, are you.. are you scared of me?
I stepped again.
He stepped back like a submissive—oh lord Mira don't say it—
Submissive kitty.
STOP.
HE'S YOUR BOSS.
Or—was.
Anyway.
Mr. Jeon kept checking the massive vintage clock in his living room.He looked at me like I had finally lost it. And maybe I had.
But then—
THE CLOCK STRUCK 8.
DONG!
The big decorative antique clock in his living room rang out dramatically like it was announcing Doomsday.
And then…
Golden spirals.
MAGICAL GOLDEN SPIRALS.
Started swirling around him like a Disney villain about to transform into his final form.
I blinked.
He blinked.
And then—
POOF.
MR. JEON TURNED INTO A CHICKEN.
YES.
A LITERAL.
CHICKEN.
With perfectly shiny black feathers, beady judgmental eyes, and a fancier strut than half of Paris Fashion Week.
My brain glitched.
My jaw hit the floor.
My soul? Floating somewhere near the ceiling, trying to process the absolute nonsense my eyeballs were witnessing.
One moment he was standing there—tall, cold, terrifying in his three-piece suit, oozing CEO energy.
And the next?
He's a CHICKEN?!
I screamed.
He flapped.
I screamed louder.
He glared.
Yes. THE CHICKEN GLARED.
I CAN SEE IT!
My vision blurred—first like a smudged camera lens, then like Picasso took over my eyeballs.
A high-pitched ringing filled my ears, dramatic and unnecessary, as if Beethoven himself decided this was the perfect time for a surprise symphony.
Thud.
There I was.
Collapsed.
Dramatically sprawled like the heroine of a tragic Victorian novel.
Somewhere, a gasp echoed. Probably mine. Maybe someone else's. Possibly the universe itself.
All I remember was the ceiling swirling like whipped cream and the distant voice of someone shouting,
"IS SHE DEAD?"
No Karen, I'm just allergic to life.